Now this was the time on which Master Richard had determined for
himself, but for a moment he could not cry out: it seemed as if the
fiend had gripped him by the throat and were hammering in his bowels.
The King turned to the steps, and at that sight Master Richard was
enabled to speak.

He had not resolved what to say, but to leave that to what God should
put in his mouth, and this is what he cried, in a voice that all could
hear.

"News from our Lord! News from our Lord, your grace."

He said that when he cried that, that was first silence, and then such a
clamour as he had never heard nor thought to hear. He was pushed this
way and that; one tore at his shoulder from behind; one struck him on
the head: he heard himself named madman, feeble-wit, knave, fond fellow.
The guards in front turned themselves about, and made as though they
would run at the crowd with their weapons, and at that the men left off
heaving at Master Richard, and went back, babbling and crying out.

Then he cried out again with all his might.

"I bring tidings from my Lord God to my lord the King," and went forward
to the barrier, still looking at the King who had turned and looked back
at him with sick, troubled eyes, not knowing what to do.

A fellow seized Master Richard by the throat and pulled him against the
barrier, menacing him with his glaive, but the King said something,
raising his hand, and there fell a silence.